


Exudate

by AngstyDathomirians



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Ed's not good with feelings, Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, Eye Trauma, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I am not kind to Oswald in this I'm afraid, Lee is done with Ed, Lee is too good for them, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Gore, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-13 22:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19260559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstyDathomirians/pseuds/AngstyDathomirians
Summary: Exudate - the drainage of a woundBane's attack on Gotham leads to the reopening of several old festering wounds, and maybe cleaning them out tooOr: When Oswald Cobblepot loses his eye to shrapnel in a firefight for the city, Ed Nygma's going to make sure he doesn't become the first mobster martyr, even if it involves a few druggings and kidnappings along the way





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this waaaay before 5x11 even aired, so a bunch of guesswork turned into an AU. I was right about Oswald losing his eye to shrapnel, but I was wrong about the circumstances and the severity of the injury, so here it's way worse than it was on the show

“Nygma? Nygma, get up, you alright?”

The voice seemed to come from far away, echoing and pushing sluggishly through the ringing in Ed’s ears. Strong hands gripped his arms, not unkindly, and pulled him into a sitting position from where he had hit the top of the barricades.

Gordon. The moron snapped his fingers in front of Ed’s face, brow furrowed. “You alright?” he yelled again. Shaking his head to clear the ringing, Ed batted Gordon’s hand away as his vision sharpened.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he muttered, wiping the grit from his skewed glasses. Gordon’s jaw tightened as another explosion shook the barricade. Obviously satisfied with Ed’s response, he took off in the direction of the fresh assault without another word.

Ed hauled himself to his feet with a slight groan, his sore, aching body wailing protests. Dorrance’s RPG had slammed into the wall of concrete and metal, sending chunks of heavy debris flying in all directions and knocking Ed to the ground. As his scrambled thoughts reorganized themselves, realization pierced his gut like another missile.

Oswald had been much, much closer to the point of impact than Ed. The odds of him being killed or seriously wounded were disturbingly high.

“Oswald?” he rasped. “Where are you?”

Most of the fighting had migrated further down the wall; wincing from the harshness of the distant yells and gunfire, he stumbled towards where he had last seen his friend.

The bodies of those not as fortunate littered the pavement, blood seeping from bullet wounds and shrapnel injuries, the stench of charred flesh visceral. A few weak groans reached his ears, but none of them mattered.

His breath caught in his scratchy throat as he almost tripped over the limp, motionless body partially concealed behind a heap of rubble.

_Please don’t be dead please don’t be dead PLEASE not him –_

Oswald’s pale face was soaked in blood – it seeped from his ears and poured down his face in a sticky, grimy river. Ed dropped to his knees, absently noting that his hands were shaking, and he couldn’t help a small exhale of relief as he felt Oswald’s fluttery pulse. The blast must have knocked him unconscious, and most certainly for the best – shrapnel had buried itself so deeply in his right eye Ed wasn’t even sure he had an eye left. And that wasn’t even taking into account possible internal injuries.

“You idiot,” Ed hissed, aware of the absurdity of talking to someone who couldn’t hear him but attempting to calm his racing nerves. “This never would have happened if you hadn’t insisted on being a hero. You must be the first ever mobster with a martyr complex,” he muttered as he shifted his arms under his friend’s prone form and staggered towards the makeshift hospital Lee had set up in an abandoned building at the bottom of the barricade. “Just – don’t actually become one, alright?”

***

“He’s fine for now,” Lee said tiredly, the dim sunlight from the grimy window highlighting the dark rings circling her eyes. Ed distractedly wondered how much sleep, if any, she was getting with the constant flow of wounded. Not that she was his to worry about.

“His right eardrum was busted, but the damage wasn’t irreparable. He’ll probably always be a bit hard of hearing, but -“

“His eye?” Ed demanded.

Lee glared at him for a fraction of a second, then continued. “I couldn’t save it,” she admitted. “There was nothing left to save. He got lucky, though – any deeper and he’d be dead. I’ve got it wrapped it for now, but…” she took a weary breath. “Here’s where things get tricky. I’m not an ophthalmologist, I don’t really know how to treat him best. We’re running low on antibiotics, and a wound that deep, in that complex of an area…it’ll take him a long time to completely heal, and he’s at a very high risk of infection.” She glared at Ed pointedly. “He can’t go anywhere yet.”

“Of course, Dr. Thompkins,” Ed grinned. “Or is it Gordon now? No matter, I’m sure you have other patients to attend to, hm?”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Ed,” she said flatly.

“When have I ever?”

“We may not have talked in a while, but I…I still know you. I know you only came back for Oswald. And let’s see: escaping with a crippled, half-blind crime lord while he’s incapacitated and needs actual medical attention sounds pretty stupid to me.”

“Temporarily incapacitated,” Ed corrected. “Oswald can take care of himself. Hypothetically, of course.”

She threw up her hands in exasperation. “You know what? Fine. You’re right. I’m beginning to think that man could get shot in the head and come back just fine. But don’t come crying to me if that theory’s proven wrong.”

“Duly noted,” Ed said with a tiny smirk as he tipped his hat at her courteously. Lee stalked off with an exhausted sigh. Ed’s smirk grew as he tracked her retreating figure down the corridor towards the other operating rooms, then turned on his heel.

His stomach plummeted as he entered his friend’s room. Oswald was limp and still on the rickety bed, dark blood already seeping through the makeshift bandages wrapped around the hole where his right eye used to be.

Logically, Ed knew that Oswald wasn’t impervious to weakness. He himself had treated his wounds many times, and inflicted just as many. Hell, he’d shot him in the gut and dumped him in the river. But Oswald had still come back, defiant and stronger than ever before, still limping proudly on his busted leg. Even in the early days of their friendship, nursing a bullet wound in his shoulder, grieving and in pain, there had been a determined, steely light in Oswald’s green eyes that defied sympathy. Over time, some unconscious, more irrational part of Ed had started to think of Oswald as…indestructible. Which was absurd, of course, but he still had the sentimentality to be disturbed at the sight of his friend’s lifeless body.

Lee was uncharacteristically correct in her diagnosis – Oswald wasn’t going anywhere soon. He wondered if the self-evident conclusion factored into her earlier lack of resistance at the prospect of losing her patient. She must have known Ed wouldn’t be willing to risk Oswald’s safety, even if it meant staying in this hellhole. After all, she’d guessed his motives for returning in the first place, he reflected with a self-deprecating scoff. She was wily, Ed would give her that, as much as he balked at the idea of being predictable. But – the damage to his ego was a small price to pay, ultimately. 

Resigning himself to wait, he flopped wearily down in one of the cheap metal chairs by the bedside. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered.

***

By the time night fell, the fighting had lulled, Bane and his army retreating a few hundred yards from the barricades to restrategize. The possibility of a surprise attack had been discussed, but in the end, Gordon had ordered everyone to rest and recover as well while they had the chance, bitterness and resignation in his eyes. The wall was their only advantage; if they left it, they’d be defenseless.

The temporary peace meant Ed could stay with Oswald without anyone yelling at him to pick up a gun and go fight. It would also make it harder to escape, but certainly not impossible. Not for a man like Ed.

He dozed lightly in the moonlit chamber, hand carefully covering Oswald’s, ready to wake the moment his friend stirred. Lee was unfortunately truthful in the troubling shortage of antibiotics, but Ed had already squirreled away as many painkillers and sedatives and bandages as he could without drawing attention. He knew Oswald wouldn’t come quietly, but that was an obstacle Ed had already prepared for.

A soft groan snapped him back to alertness, and he felt a wide grin split his cheeks in relief.

“Oswald…”

The single green eye opened a blurry sliver, then widened and met his gaze. “…Ed? Where are we? What happened?” He was already sitting up, the heel of his hand going to dig into his bandaged socket.

Ed caught his wrist before he could hurt himself. “Don’t do that,” he scolded. “You were in an explosion and you lost your eye. It’s too deep to have closed yet, and you don’t need to make it worse by poking around in there.”

Oh. Perhaps that was too soon, he reflected guiltily at the stricken look on his friend’s face. He recalled that most people couldn’t handle news of a traumatic injury when it was just dropped on them. But before he could say anything to hastily soothe him, Oswald’s mulish determination took over, tightening his jaw and igniting a resolute glow in his remaining eye. Obviously, his wound wasn’t a problem he was willing to process yet.

“Where’s Bane now? Or better yet, where’s Jim? What’s the strategy, I assume we have one?” he demanded, hauling himself to his feet and running his hands over his black hair to return it to its usual gravity-defying state.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Ed reprimanded, placing himself between Oswald and the door. “There’s no way you can fight like this!”

Oswald started to roll his eyes on instinct, but stopped with a hiss of pain, somewhat undermining his point. “I’ll be fine!”            

“No, you don’t get to say that,” Ed argued. “That’s what you said when you left and then this happened! You don’t get to be wounded like this and then say you’re fine!”

There was a moment of tense silence as they glared at each other, neither willing to back down, Oswald swaying slightly on his feet. Ed tensed, ready to catch him if he fell, but his friend’s bullheadedness was as strong as ever.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Oswald said, changing tactics, his green eye softening. “I know Gotham means nothing to you. And I won’t hold it against you if you leave. But-“ he held up a gloved finger and pointed to the ground to emphasize his position –“I’m staying.”

“Then I guess we’re at an impasse,” Ed ground out. “Because I’m not leaving you behind and I’m not staying here either.”

Oswald blinked, obviously touched. “Ed –“

“I found you, after the explosion,” Ed choked out. “I thought you were dead, Oswald. I thought you were _gone_. This city has taken everything from me, and I would see it torn apart brick by brick before I let it take you too!”

Then Oswald was in his arms, breathless and head buried against his friend’s chest. “Thank you, Eddie,” he said thickly. “For coming back for me. But…it’s not up to you. This is my choice. I’ll be ok.”

He was awake, and had been angry, standing on his own two feet and ready to throw himself back into the battle. All good signs. Surely he was out of danger if Ed removed him from Lee’s care. Ed’s own arms came up around him. “Yes, you will be,” Ed murmured, and stuck the syringe of sedative hidden up his sleeve into his friend’s neck.

Oswald stiffened with a hoarse cry of pain and outrage, before he went limp in Ed’s arms.

***

The docks weren’t far from the barricades, and Ed couldn’t help but think that if Bane and his army really had any brains between them they’d storm the city from the river. But that was none of his concern; he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Panting breaths misting in the chilly moonlit air, a cool fog rolling in from the river, Ed grinned in triumph as he approached the site where he had hidden his greatest creation. How many former forensic scientists, or even career criminals, could claim that they had built a fully functioning submarine almost entirely from scratch? And finally, he could put it to its intended use.

Arms aching, he laid Oswald against a stack of abandoned wooden crates, exhaling and rolling his shoulders to restore his circulation. “You’re heavier than you look,” he complained to his unconscious friend. “And I can’t believe you expected me to scrap the _Gertrud_ and fight for some cesspool and its idiotic population! Well, actually I can,” he amended, digging around in his pockets for the engine key. “Rather I can’t believe you expected me to allow _you_ to do that. I worked on her for nine months, Oswald.”

His nose wrinkled as it picked up a familiar, foreboding smell on the damp breeze: burning fuel. “Oh dear,” he muttered. “No no no no no –“

He raced to the edge of the pier, and by the dim light of the overhead streetlamps, surveyed the wreckage of his craft in the black water. “Dammit!” he screamed. “Who the _hell_ -?!” From the faintness of the acrid odor, it must have been destroyed hours ago. Sabotage? No one had known about it except –

“Barbara,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “But why? Spite? Or no, maybe she spilled the beans to someone else – I’ll figure it out later,” he muttered. “And oh, I _will_ figure it out. And then someone’s going to get a taste of their own medicine.”

He stalked back to the slumped figure behind him. “This is all your fault,” he announced flatly, seating himself beside Oswald. “You and your damn attachment to this place. You realize this means your dog is probably dead? I hope for your sake that it’s not, but we’ll probably never be able to find it now. At least we won’t get the names mixed up anymore,” he joked morbidly, then felt bad about it. Oswald would be devastated if he were awake. “I’ve half a mind to just leave you here, since you’re so inexplicably devoted to this city,” he continued sourly. “But I’m just kidding, I’d never do that to you, Oswald.” He looked up at the smog-shrouded stars. “I do have to improvise, though. I can’t carry you any farther. This is what happens when you don’t give me any choice, I’ve got no backup plan and I’m _horrible_ at improvising!”

Oswald, predictably, had no useful ideas of his own.

“Fat lot of help you are,” Ed grumbled. “And yes, I’m aware you’re insensate, but this is still your fault and it makes me feel better to talk to you.”

He turned his head back to the city with a sigh, scanning the skyline for inspiration. A distant explosion lit up the inky blackness; apparently one of the two sides had made a move. A flickering neon sign close to the shoreline caught his eye; an abandoned seafood store, that also boasted bait and tackle and other such useless fishing frivolities. Ed pushed his glasses up his nose, intrigued, an idea already building in his mind.

“Wait here,” he commanded Oswald unnecessarily, then cackled to himself. “Oh, you’re going to _hate_ this.”

***

Sure enough, the parking lot was full of decrepit shopping carts, some still full of moldering groceries; the patrons had clearly dropped everything to run when Jeremiah’s bomb threat was declared. Ed selected an empty one that appeared to be in relatively good condition and strolled back to the pier in high good spirits.

“Upsy-daisy, Oswald,” he teased, dumping his friend unceremoniously into the basket. Oswald moaned slightly as if he subconsciously knew that his dignity was being assaulted, but he did not wake. “This would be prime blackmail material if we were still duking it out, but I guess if we were I wouldn’t be saving your life in the first place.” He sobered, unwilling to follow that train of thought into the darker recesses of his mind. “Anyways,” he continued nonchalantly, “I won’t tell anyone out of respect for our renewed friendship. Except maybe you – I _do_ forgive you for sticking me in your lounge as a centerpiece, but what’s a little, ah, friendly payback? Gordon and Bullock do it all the time.”

Ed clasped his hands together and brought his gloved thumbs to his lips delightedly, unable to suppress another amused giggle at the sight of the kingpin of all Gotham unconscious in the back of a grocery cart. “I _am_ sorry about this – actually I’m not, because it’s hilarious – but it’s better than nothing. We’ll go to your father’s estate,” he declared. “It’ll do you good to recover in a familiar, secluded place. Of course I can’t push you all the way there,” he grinned, “but I’m afraid you’re stuck like this until I can hijack a car.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edits and re-edits and edits again and finally decides to just post the stupid thing*
> 
> This chapter was. hard. but i'm semi pleased with it

The exterior of the Van Dahl manor was even more broken down than the last time Ed had seen it, a dark, crumbling, looming mass covered in ivy, stark against the gray sky. Ed knew that Oswald had been paying for its upkeep while he lived in the Lounge, but after the bombings the groundskeepers had clearly fled, leaving the ancient house in disarray. It hadn’t been totally abandoned at least; the inside was still largely livable.

At least squatters were good for something, Ed grinned to himself as he scrubbed away the fresh blood on the walls of the kitchen. He had laid Oswald on one of the plush couches in the den, ignited the fireplace, and then busied himself cleaning up his handiwork and taking inventory. The lowlifes that had taken up residence in Oswald’s ancestral home had left very little to work with; the larder and wine cellar were plundered, with all but a few canned foods taken. At least they’d paid for it.

“And sleeping beauty should be up right about…now,” he smirked as he noted the time. As if on cue, the sound of distant, muffled curses drifted in from the den. Ed peeled back his gloves and followed the familiar loud arrhythmic gait that was rapidly getting closer.

Then he was face-to-face with a pale, shaky, and _livid_ Oswald Cobblepot. “Edward Nygma!” he screeched. “You _drugged_ me! And then you dragged me out of Gotham against my will! How _dare_ you?!”

“Oh please,” Ed snapped impatiently. “It was for your own good. You were going to get yourself killed out there! I saved your life, you’re welcome.”

“You take me back _right now!_ ”

“No. If I have to drug you again, _I will_!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Oswald sneered. “As if I’d turn my back on you again.”

“What are you going to do, Oswald?” Ed demanded, spreading his arms wide to hide how that comment had stung slightly. “Where are you going to go? You’d never make it in your condition. You’re half-blind, how are you going to shoot with no depth perception? Believe it or not Gotham can function perfectly fine without you-”

His friend’s face fell, and Ed shoved down a twinge of guilt at being so harsh, but before either of them could say anything, Oswald bit back a sharp hiss of pain and clenched the kitchen chairback with white knuckles.

“Oswald?” Instantly Ed was at his side, aggravation swallowed up by concern. “What’s wrong?”

Oswald waved him away irritably. “I’m fine, I just got dizzy for a second…”

“You’re burning up,” Ed murmured, carefully placing the back of one hand against the sweaty forehead. “You need to sit down, now. Let me look at your eye. Or, what remains of it I guess.”

“Don’t - touch me,” Oswald rasped. “I think I’m going to be sick…”

“Ok,” Ed said firmly, heart racing. “Ok, that’s fine. Just sit down, take deep breaths. You’ll be ok, the sink is right there if you get sick.”

Oswald practically collapsed into the carved wooden chair and closed his single eye, hands resting on the kitchen table. Ed chewed his lip for a moment, then hurried to the den to retrieve the meager pouch of medical supplies he had smuggled away.

“Still feeling nauseous?” he asked upon his return, and Oswald nodded miserably, lips pressed together in a tight line. He was shaking from the fever, and Ed realized he was probably freezing, but it would be easier to examine his wound in the light of the kitchen than the warm dimness of the den. As soon as they were done, he could change and go back to the fireplace or his old room.

“Sorry, this might hurt,” Ed murmured as he slipped on a clean pair of gloves and began untying the old bandages. His stomach churned as he detected a faint rotting odor; that wasn’t a good sign. Oswald winced as the fabric pulled dried blood away from his skin, but he didn’t utter a sound.

The festering stench filled the air now, and Ed suppressed a gag. He had chopped up bodies and dissolved them in acid, examined dozens of brutally murdered victims. Gore had never bothered him; but this – this was _Oswald_. It was just _wrong_.

Lee had completely cut away the remains of Oswald’s eye; all that was left was a dark hole in his face, far too deep, covered by his bruised, shapeless eyelid. She had neatly stitched the areas where the shrapnel had lacerated his skin, but the wounds were now weeping a sticky, discolored fluid from beneath the sutures, and the eye socket itself dripped pus. The whole area was swollen and an inflamed, angry red.              

Ed sucked in a breath from between clenched teeth, mind racing with possible remedies. “That’s…one nasty infection,” he admitted. “How the hell did you not keel over walking in here?”

“Believe me, it hurts like a bitch,” Oswald hissed. “I’m just used to fighting through pain.”

“It probably wouldn’t hurt as badly if it wasn’t infected, if that’s any comfort.”

“Not really. How did this happen?”

“Our dear Gotham, especially when it’s a post-apocalyptic warzone, isn’t exactly the most sanitary place. All it would have taken was some polluted water or air particles or dirty skin cells that got beneath…Lee didn’t have many antibiotics she could give you. Neither do I, truthfully.”

“Can’t you just pour alcohol on it or something?”

Ed shook his head. “Mm, bad idea. Alcohol, especially in a wound that deep and an area that complex, can actually damage tissue. You might end up burning away some of your flesh.”

“Thanks, you could have just said ‘bad idea,’” Oswald groaned.

“Okie dokie, let’s see…” Ed muttered, digging around in the pouch and producing a small saline wipe. “This might sting a little, but it shouldn’t hurt too badly. It can’t really fix the underlying infection, but it’ll clean your skin at least,” he explained, gently wiping away the dried blood and pus. “Plenty of water and rest, and changing your bandages often, that’s about the best we can do without medicine.”

“It’s been a while, huh?” Oswald said with a small, pained smile.

“Since I tried to force you to recuperate or you upset yourself to the point of collapse?” Ed replied, wrapping the injury with a clean white bandage.

“Both.”

“Here,” Ed said briskly, throwing away his stained gloves and handing his friend a glass of water. “You’re probably dehydrated.”

Wracked by another wave of nausea, Oswald grit his teeth. “I’ll just get sick if I drink anything. Can’t you give me _something_? I’m pretty sure I saw painkillers in there.”

“You can have a capsule in a few hours, but I’m hesitant to give you anything while you’re still coming off that sedative. Just try to drink, you’ll feel worse without it.”

Oswald tentatively swallowed a few sips of the cool liquid, before simply placing the glass against his burning forehead with a weary sigh. “Maybe I can’t fight, but if you hadn’t kidnapped me I could still get news from the front lines. I’m still pissed.” There was no venom in his words.

“I figured you would be,” Ed said with a slight grin. “But frankly I don’t really care, as long as you’re alive.” He extended a hand. “Do you want to go up to your room? To be quite honest you need some clean clothes.”

His friend’s beaky nose wrinkled. “I think I would die if I had to climb stairs right now.” He looked up, some of the old spark returning to his green eye. “And since you’re so determined to make sure that doesn’t happen, be a dear and go get a change for me?”

“Anything for you,” Ed replied cheekily. “Can you make it back to the den by yourself alright? You’re awfully shaky.”

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

“Righto. Back in a jiffy.”

***

By the time the sun set again they were in clean robes on Oswald’s couch, a fresh fire crackling, Oswald with an icepack against his face to numb the pain and lower his fever. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. His green gaze sharpened in the firelight.

“So what…happened exactly? After you drugged me.”

“I went back to the _Gertrud_ , I was going to get you out of Gotham entirely like we planned.” Ed swallowed. “But it was destroyed. I…don’t know who did it.” The words were sour on his tongue.

Oswald’s brow furrowed. “But only Barbara knew about it, right? Why would she destroy her only way out of the city?”

“I have no idea,” Ed muttered. “At the time I had more pressing matters to deal with.”

Oswald shrugged slightly, then winced as if the movement pained him. “Well, I know how hard you worked on her. Sorry about that.”

Silence resettled, and Ed almost, almost thought he dodged the bullet. Then:

“What happened to my dog?!”

“Calm down,” Ed pleaded. “Would you calm down?! I didn’t see a body or anything. He probably wandered off into the city somewhere, we’ll look for him after, ok?”

“As soon as I can stand without the room spinning,” Oswald spat. “My poor baby…”

Ed sighed. “It’s not like I could take it – him into a firefight.”

“I know, I know. I’m not mad at you. Just let me be peeved for a minute.”

“Sorry about that,” Ed murmured, echoing his friend’s earlier words.

“It wasn’t your fault. I’ll take care of it later.” He paused, worry tight in his pale face, then continued. “What happened then? How did you get me here?”

At that, Ed couldn’t help the snort of laughter that bubbled up. He hadn’t planned on spilling the beans yet, but – Oswald had asked.

“In a shopping cart.”

Oswald blinked. “A _what_?”

“You know, a shopping cart. I had to improvise to get you off the docks. So I pushed you around in a shopping cart until I found a car.” He giggled again at the look on his friend’s face.

“Good God, Edward…” He groaned and closed his single eye. “I don’t even want to know how you came up with that.”

“I didn’t take any pictures or anything,” Ed offered helpfully.

“I am so glad I was unconscious for all of this.”

“It wasn’t very far, at least.”

Oswald looked around the warm darkness of the room. “So you came…here.” The temperature seemed to drop. “It feels like forever since I set foot in my father’s house. What made you decide to come back?”

Ed shrugged. “It’s secluded, and well-stocked. I only had to get rid of a few squatters. Besides…I figured you missed it.”

“I did,” Oswald admitted. “I just never came back because there were too many memories…”

_Of your father, or of me?_ Ed wanted to ask. He didn’t.

“Eddie...” Oswald said quietly. “Please tell me truthfully.” His voice cracked. “Did you really put my father’s body in a dumpster? I already forgive you if you did, I just want to know.”

Guilt and resentment, old and unwanted, rose in his chest. “No. He’s in an unmarked grave close to your mother. After…after what happened, he was irrelevant. There was no need to punish him further when a lie would suit just fine.” He glanced up hesitantly to see Oswald turned away from him, and heard his friend’s quiet sniffle. “I’ll take you there, when you’re better. If you’d like that.”

“I would,” Oswald replied in a tight voice. “Thank you for being honest.”

_Of course. I owe you a debt I can never repay_ , Ed didn’t say. What he does say is: “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just…”

“Didn’t think about it?”

“Yeah.”

“Ed,” Oswald reprimanded gently. “I didn’t bring it up to make you feel guilty.” His smile, for its dimness, was no less sincere. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

Oswald had always been able to read him so effortlessly. A lump rose in his throat at the easy forgiveness. They hadn’t talked much about their rather sordid history; at first Ed assumed it was so as not to jeopardize their renewed alliance, but recently, since after Penn, he was realizing that it was apparently because Oswald simply accepted him with the same irrational affection as before. It angered him, really, to be so totally in another’s power, but he also knew it was futile to try and escape it. Losing Isabella had hurt, but losing Oswald had… _killed_ him. He wouldn’t let it happen again. However much a part of him was still infuriated by the dependency.

“Are you sleeping down here?” Ed asked stiffly once he had his breathing under control.

“Yes. It’ll be better if I get sick again.” He sighed. “Go up to your room, Ed. I won’t ask you to sleep in a chair for me. I’ll be fine.”

He always said that, and he hardly ever was. Ed hesitated. “…Ok. You have your water, I put a pill and a flashlight on the lampstand. I’ll sleep in one of the downstairs rooms, don’t hesitate to come get me if you need me.”

Oswald waved a hand at him in weary dismissal. “Got it.”

***

Gray light seeped through the borders of Ed’s drawn curtains, and he sighed and stretched in the four-poster bed. He’d slept poorly, but that was nothing new. Fatigue and anxiety burned his aching eyes, but he’d always risen with the sun.

Recoiling briefly at the cold floor on his bare feet, he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and crept down the hall towards the den.

Knowing Oswald preferred to sleep as late as he possibly could, Ed took care to tread quietly through the darkness of the den, stopping by the couch to silently check his friend’s temperature. He frowned worriedly as his fingers lightly brushed Oswald’s sweaty black hair; his fever should have gone down during the night, not elevated. But if anything, the heat emanating from his pale skin was even more intense than before.

“Oswald,” Ed whispered, carefully brushing his shoulder. “Oswald, wake up.”

He did not stir.

Ed checked his pulse; far, far too fast. And breathing far too shallow. “Oswald!” he snapped, louder, sharper. “ _Wake up!_ ” He grasped desperately at his friend’s too-warm hand; it was limp in his, he was rambling now... “Wake up, please, please you have to wake up -”

Oswald gave a shuddering gasp as his green eye snapped open, glazed and unfocused. His hand automatically went to his bandaged socket as he sat shakily upright with a pained groan; their gazes met for a split second, before fear flooded the green depths.

“No,” he gasped with something like a sob, terror and grief creasing his sickly gray face. “You can’t do this, please don’t do this –“

“Oswald, what are you –“ Ed broke off with a painful swallow as realization hit him. Fever dreams often produced hallucinations, he reminded himself. He noticed the way his friend cringed and shrank to cover his stomach, and he knew _exactly_ what Oswald was reliving.

“It’s ok,” he offered, changing tactics. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I forgive you, I already forgave you.” He reached out tentatively, intending to take his hands the way Oswald had reached for him that day.

But then an odd choking sound escaped his friend, and he leaned over the couch and threw up all over the patterned rug.

Ed grimaced and stepped back; it was mostly bile, Oswald had eaten very little since…after the invasion, really.

“Oh dear,” he muttered. “This is not good.”

“Sorry,” Oswald gasped, collapsing back against the pillows, eye slipping shut. Was he lucid again?

“Oh, don’t apologize. Your body is trying to expel toxins. I’ll clean it up. You need to eat something, though. And...you need medicine.”

His friend peered up at him blearily. “…Mom?” he whispered.

“…oh dear.”

***

“Whoa, slow down, what’s going on?” Lee said firmly.

Ed forced himself to take a breath, pacing up and down his bedroom with phone in hand. Good thing he hadn’t deleted Lee’s number.

“Oswald…he’s very ill. He’s got an infection, and it’s getting worse.”

"Ed, we won, but a lot of Bane’s soldiers fled, and some got into the city. The government’s not sending in any supplies until they’re rounded up. I’ve got nothing for you.”

“You’ve got yourself! Antibiotics or not, your little clinic is bound to have more than I do right now!”

“I can’t leave,” she insisted. “There are other patients here…”

“There are other doctors!” he snapped impatiently, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Lee. You need to get down here.” The begging in his voice is not intentional, but he figured it would serve his purpose anyway.

“…Fine. I’ll be over as soon as I can. Did you check his temp?”

“103.”

He heard Lee suck in a contemplative breath. “Keep him as cool as you can. Any higher and some of his brain functions will start to go."

_I know that_ , Ed doesn’t say. _Too late, already crossed that threshold_ , he doesn’t say. “I’ll see you soon,” he muttered quickly, and hung up.

Oswald had fallen back into some sort of shallow stupor; not catatonic, but silent and still with his single eye closed. Ed guessed that he was simply exhausted. At least he wasn’t calling Ed “mother” anymore. He opened his friend’s robe to cool him off and grimaced at the discolored lump of flesh on Oswald’s stomach. He had never actually seen the damage his bullet had inflicted, almost two years ago now, and resisted the urge to touch the old scar, to take the pain away. He didn’t even know if it still hurt. Oddly, he’d never asked Oswald how he’d survived. He would do it later. There would be a later.

He threw the soiled rug into the garden; there were plenty of rugs in the oversized house, after all. He laid cool damp cloths over his friend’s skin in an attempt to lower his fever. He cleaned away more pus, now an unsettling greenish color, and placed a fresh strip of linen over the deep wound rather than tying a bandage. He tried to coax some more food and water into Oswald’s depleted system. Ed’s hands twitched involuntarily when he’d done all he could possibly do; uselessness was a feeling he’d rather not become reacquainted with.

Thankfully, Lee’s footsteps in the hall echoed through before he could become too restless. 

“I’m not going to say ‘I told you so,’” she muttered as she marched into the den, already pulling on gloves.

“I’m pretty sure that counts as saying it,” Ed replied sourly.

“That’s no good,” Lee murmured, more to herself than Ed, as she examined the injury. Oswald, if he sensed her presence, did not react. “The skin around is actually healing, but the damage to the eye socket is so deep his body can’t really fight off the infection and mend itself at the same time, not without severely taxing him. We don’t have antibiotics strong enough for an infection this bad, but you can give him some of these,” she suggested, handing Ed a small bottle of pills. “They’ll boost his immune system. Give his body a better chance of fighting it off itself.”

“Lee…” Ed wasn’t surprised that she had come; he had counted on her bleeding heart, after all. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t still grateful. He choked back his pride. “Thank you.”

She actually smiled at him, dark eyes warm, and he thought that maybe she didn’t dislike him as much as he imagined. “Of course. It’s not much, but it’s the best chance he’s got.” She glanced up at the high vaulted ceilings. “Do you mind if I stay the night? I brought my things just in case. I think it’ll be better if we both keep an eye on him for now. And God, I did not mean to make that pun.”

“For the record I wasn’t going to say anything. And that should be fine, I’ll cook us a nice meal of canned vegetables. What about your dear Captain Gordon?”

“I’ll let him know where I am, but he doesn’t have much say in the matter. Doctor’s orders.”

Ed carefully lifted up Oswald’s head so he could swallow the pills, listening halfheartedly to Lee’s conversation with her husband as she paced the den.

“Hello? Lee, where are you?” Jim always sounded so worried on the phone.

“Jim, something came up,” she explained gently. “A patient who’s very badly injured and needs medical supervision. I might be gone for a few days.”

“Can’t you do it at the hospital?”

“That’s…not really an option right now,” Lee said neutrally. “I’d prefer not to move them.”

“It’s Penguin, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. “You know with the government moving in soon they’ll be after him.”

“I know.”

There was a long pause, and Ed half-expected Gordon to refuse and demand his wife’s location. But then: “…Call me every day?” came the falsely cheerful tone.

Lee softened, a fond smile appearing. “Of course. And if the baby or anybody else needs me, don’t hesitate to call.”

There was a pause. “I love you, Lee.”

“I love you too.” She hung up.

***

The evening dragged, the long hours passing in mostly silence. Without something to occupy attention, the Van Dahl manor’s sense of timeless seclusion gave everything an almost daze-like quality. It wasn’t quite uncomfortable, but whenever Ed felt like he should be making conversation with Lee, he could think of nothing to say that didn’t sound incredibly awkward, and the words dried up in his mouth.

_So, how’s married life?_

_Old Jimbo had a kid with the woman who tried to kill you, huh?_

_What happened after I stabbed you?_

_You and Gordon got back at it pretty quickly, I see._

Like hell.

At least Lee didn’t seem overly bothered, having changed into something more comfortable and now curled in one of the armchairs, reading a novel from Oswald’s bookshelf. She’d hardly moved after their bland meal of spam and green beans, except to change Oswald’s bandages or check his temperature, a worried frown on her face each time.

His fever hadn’t gone any higher, thankfully, but it wasn’t going down either, and Ed knew his friend’s body could only sustain itself at such a temperature for so long. Anxiety prickled between his eyes, beneath his fingernails, accompanied by a near-overwhelming desire to _get out of the house_ and its sickly odor; bizarrely, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched by something just waiting to attack. He forced himself to stay put. Oswald wouldn’t leave him, after all, if their positions were reversed.

The wound was steadily rotting, now with red streaks starting to branch out over his face and down his neck as the infection spread. The whole area glistened with fluid and the oils of his skin as it tried unsuccessfully to scab. There were about four hours between the painkillers, and the times they wore off were the worst. Oswald twisted and sobbed, delirious with pain and fever. He hovered somewhere between sleeping and waking, crying out for his mother, for Ed, for anyone who could lessen the agony. And Ed would hold him, soothe him as best he could, grit his teeth with helpless frustration as he watched his friend grow weaker and weaker with every fit. He wasn’t much better even under the medication, for while it calmed him, it couldn’t revive him.

“Very good, Martin,” Oswald whispered deliriously when the sun dipped below the trees at long last, still lost in the recesses of his memories. “One day all of this will be yours, my boy…”

Ed stifled a weary sigh, scrubbing his hands over his grimy face. He probably needed a shower, and his glasses cleaned. He’d take care of it when this whole fiasco was over. “If you want to go up to bed, Lee, I’m staying down here. Don’t wait for me out of courtesy.”

Lee placed a tentative but firm hand on his shoulder. “I’ll stay down too.”

“That’s not necessary-“

“Well there’s no point in me being here if I’m not with my patient.” Her dark eyes were hard. “We’re in this together, Ed.”

He glanced away. “It’s, uh, it’s time for another pill.”

She handed him the small capsule. “That’s the last of them, but I can always go back to the city and get more if you think he’ll…” She trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air: _If you think he’ll make it that long_.

Ed swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

“It’s not looking good,” Lee replied gently, heavily. “But I called Jim earlier and he said all of Bane’s people have been apprehended. If he can hold on a little bit longer...”

Ed’s jaw clenched. “He can make it. He’s strong.”

Oswald shifted, seemingly distressed again, and Ed realized his friend was weeping, hot tears slipping from beneath his single eye, fluid he couldn’t really afford to lose.

“I’m going to fix you, Ed,” he choked. “This won’t be goodbye…”

“It’s ok, Oswald,” he whispered, hoping his voice penetrated the haze in his friend’s mind. “I’m right here. You fixed me.”

Oswald gave a shuddering inhale and went limp; Ed wasn’t sure if his friend had somehow heard him, or simply drifted off into deeper sleep.

Lee glanced away for a moment, and he didn’t think he was imagining the wet glisten in her eyes. She had been there that day too, bleeding out on the floor beside him. How much had she seen, or remembered? “Look. This isn’t doing either of you any good. You need to rest, Ed,” she said firmly. “You’ve been pacing and worrying and wearing yourself out all day. I’ll sit with Oswald.”

He glared at her over the top of his glasses. “I can’t leave him. I wasn’t there last night, when he…”

“Then sleep down here,” she suggested before he could assemble his thoughts. “Take one of the armchairs. I slept a little earlier, I’ll be ok for a few more hours. I promise I’ll wake you if he…takes a turn for the worse.”

Finally, ignoring the pit of dread in his stomach in favor of relying on her expertise, Ed nodded his consent.

He’d gone days without sleep before, but an anxious sort of exhaustion still dragged his body down into shallow slumber. His dreams, when they inevitably came, were fragmented things that brought little comfort. Oswald falling away from him into murky water, disappearing in a cloud of red. His hands around Kristen’s throat.

He awoke, if he had truly been asleep, to Lee’s frantic voice.

“Ed? Ed, he’s not breathing!”

Instantly snapped into alertness, Ed collapsed to his knees at his friend’s side, reaching desperately to check his pulse. The skin was cool, his hand a deadweight. 

Oswald was still and lifeless.

His vision blurred, throat constricting, and for a moment he could only sob uselessly for air as Oswald must surely have done in the last moments of his life. His words, when he forced them out, were a strangled whisper.

“No – I can’t – he can’t be –“ The room spun. “Oh God, please no…Lee, I _cannot_ lose him.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was shocked, crushed. “I don’t know what happened, he shouldn’t have…”

“How could you _miss_ this?! He couldn’t have just – stopped breathing!” He was crying, he registered vaguely, the world turning red the way it had the night Kristen died.

“Ed,” Lee whispered, “it’ll be ok, I promise.” Her voice sounded far away.

He took a step toward her, himself not entirely sure what he intended to do, when a strong arm wrapped around his throat and pressed a rag to his face.

He lashed out wildly in blind panic, but a heady, cloying scent filled his nostrils, hazy gray clouds filling his vision. Feeling weightless and incredibly heavy all at once, his limbs, to his horror, went limp. Vaguely, he saw a dark shape drop Lee to the floor before he followed suit, world going black.

The last thing he heard before he was lost to unconsciousness entirely was a commanding voice: “Take them outside. I need to have a word with Penguin…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical accuracy? In my story? No we follow rule of angst like men  
> But I do know - fever dreams. Not fun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IVY EX MACHINA
> 
> This chapter was...weird for me? Sorry for the delay but it took me forever to get to a place I was at least somewhat happy with.

Pain.

The second Oswald stirred, his whole face flared with unearthly pain, a deep, fiery throb. He whimpered and tried to curl in on himself, back to merciful unconsciousness.

“Come on,” came an impatient voice through the black fog in his mind. He thought he might have recognized it. “You’re not dead yet. Get up.”

He tried, spitefully, to ignore it, but then his nose wrinkled and he gagged on a sharp, tangy smell. Against his will, he sucked in a deep breath and his single eye forced itself open.

“Well well,” came the low drawl. “Isn’t this awfully familiar? You, me, and a life-threatening injury – what happened, your bleeding heart bleed all over you again?”

Oswald froze as his vision focused and took in red hair framing a pale, angular face. He hadn’t seen her in over a year, but instantly his heart pounded, mind racing. She could be here for any number of reasons now, but killing him while he was in a weakened state seemed the most preeminent possibility; they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. Fine. He wouldn’t beg. She’d never respected begging, even then. He sighed. “Hello Ivy.”

Her green eyes roamed over him distastefully, her dark red hair catching the low light. “I must say, when I heard what happened to you, I came here to finish the job, but this is just…pathetic.”

He ignored the jibe, slightly woozy and head still pounding with agony. “What…happened?”

Ivy seated herself comfortably on the coffee table across from the couch, crossing her long legs. “A compound I cooked up that slows the pulse to one beat a minute. I slipped it into your water and then waited for it to take effect.”

“So you faked my death?” he concluded skeptically. “Seems like an awful lot of work when you could have just slipped in a poison instead.”

She examined her long green nails casually. “I wanted to get close to you. I wanted you to know it was me, so I needed to get rid of your babysitters. The beanpole even cried,” she grinned. “It was a great distraction.”

“What have you done with Ed?”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t hurt the little leprechaun. I did consider putting a few spores in the bitch that shot me, but I’m on a schedule and I want her end to be slow. Her time will come.”

“How did you know-“

“Where you were? What happened to you? I’ve been keeping tabs on everything in the city; my perfume lets me have eyes and ears everywhere. Everyone was up in arms against that masked man, but I knew that the military woman was behind it all. The day you were wounded, Barbara Kean told her about Nygma’s machine, and she went to secure it.” Ivy smirked. “I followed her, and blew it up with her on it. You’re welcome.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the city. Why not let Bane raze it to the ground?”

“I want it remade in my image, _not_ hers. Gordon I can handle; perhaps not the military.”

Oswald tensed. “And now you’re here. Clever, I’ll give you that. Get on with it then, if you’re going to.”

Her eyes flashed. “Funny how you assume I’ll make it quick. I could put you out of your misery…after I put you through a little more first.”

“Well,” he murmured, bowing his head slightly, grasping at the only gambit he really had - appealing to her past affection. “You did save my life once. I suppose taking it now is only fair.”

Ivy blinked, seemingly taken aback, then her lips twisted. “The penitent card won’t work on me. I’m not the fool I was when we met.”

“You were a _child_ ,” he said quietly. “And I didn’t realize that until too late.”

“Oh Oswald,” she said sweetly, venom coursing underneath her words. “Don’t tell me you’re getting maudlin _now_.”

“It’s true,” he confessed, and maybe he was laying it on a bit thick, but he supposed he meant it too. She had been a valuable ally, and he’d driven her away. “For what it’s worth, I did look for you after you ran away. I thought for sure something had happened to you. But when no ransom demands ever came, I assumed you just got sick of me.” He paused, thinking of Penn. “Trust me, I didn’t just forget you.”

“You had a funny way of showing it.” Her voice was flat.

He remembered the footage he’d seen of the calculating woman intending to make everyone in Gotham suffer an excruciating death. “I didn’t quite think I’d be welcome.” It was almost a joke, and he mentally cursed himself, but if anything, the corner of her mouth tilted upwards. He sobered. “I wasn’t a good friend,” he said softly. “I made you cold.”

“You didn’t _make_ me anything.” Now there was a hint of anger, of hurt, in her face. “Anything at all.”

She’d watched him stab somebody to death with a garden trowel and hadn’t uttered a sound. She’d always been cold, in a way. But she had idolized him, and there had always been that odd sort of innocence about her. _Words always hurt me way more than sticks or stones_ , she’d told him once. And he realized what he’d done – changed her from someone who watched cruelty to someone who inflicted it.

“I suppose not,” he admitted. “But I was in a bad place, and I took it out on you. That was wrong of me.”

Her lips pursed. “You know, I really can’t tell if you mean it or if you’re just trying to save your own skin.”

“That’s up to you. I’d give you the same answer either way.”

“I suppose I could ascertain your motives easily enough,” she said idly. “But that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, and I’ve got a game in mind. You’re no Jim Gordon, Oswald. I didn’t gouge out your eye myself. It wouldn’t be satisfying to kill you while you’re not at your best, would it?”

Oswald shrugged nonchalantly, careful not to show too much relief. It seemed…too easy, but he was hardly going to broadcast that observation. “If that’s how you see it.”

“Here,” she said, more businesslike, pressing a small wad of some star-shaped leaves into his hand. “Boil these in water. They’ll draw out the infection. You get better, rebuild your little empire. _Then_ I’ll see you again.” Ivy stood, stretching her long, graceful limbs. “Your friends should be waking up soon. I’ve got to run, Oswald, but this was a nice chat.”

He pushed himself into a sitting position, single eye narrowing. “Shame you came all this way for nothing.”

She smiled, and for a moment looked more like her younger self. “It wasn’t for nothing.”

She’d brought the exact remedy he needed. She’d simply removed Ed rather than killing him. _You didn’t really come here to kill me, did you_ , he almost challenged. But now that comment would probably earn him a weed growing in his intestines.

Her only request when they’d met was that he be _nice_ to her; it was a naïve desire, and she was certainly no longer that, but apparently she hadn’t changed too much. “Ivy…” He paused. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” It was the closest to an olive branch he could give.

“Oh darling,” she purred. “I do, of course, expect this favor to be repaid. That’s twice you owe me. But when I need something from you, I won’t _bother_ asking.” She waved lazily over her shoulder. “Bye, Pengy.”

***

“Wow,” Lee noted, sounding impressed as she disposed of yet another wilted leaf now covered in thick greenish fluid and the black specks she’d identified as the bacterial colonies. “She wasn’t kidding. These work wonders.”

“Good to know,” Oswald muttered, slightly queasy. Lee had thoughtfully moved the waste to his blind side after he’d almost gagged, but the smell was still horrendous.

“Shame Ed’s not awake yet. He’d get a kick out of these.”

“Are you sure he’s ok?” Oswald frowned, glancing to his left where his friend was still insensate.

“He’s fine,” Lee assured him. “Ivy must have given him a larger dose. Or he’s just exhausted. He hasn’t left your side.”

Oswald flinched disconcertedly. “It really was that bad?”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Everything’s a bit hazy,” he confessed. “I felt the pain, but I wasn’t aware of much else.”

“You almost died, Oswald,” Lee said softly. “A few more days without antibiotics…” She glanced away for a second. “I know it turned out to be Ivy, but we thought you were gone for a minute there.” Then she grinned mischievously. “Ed cried. Like a _baby._ ”

“So I’ve been told,” Oswald smirked.

“When we…worked together in the Narrows, I could tell he missed you. He cares about you a lot, you know.”

Oswald’s single green eye softened. “I know.”

“There, I think you’re done,” Lee declared, throwing the last soiled leaf into the waste bin. “Keep the area clean; do not touch it barehanded any under circumstances, keep it covered, and change your bandages every twelve hours.” She gave a small noise of approval. “It’s healing nicely. The swelling should start to go down soon, and in a few weeks you can get fitted for a prosthetic. If you want.”

“Thank you for that information,” he muttered, shifting away. “But there’s one thing you haven’t told me - why are you here?”

Lee sighed. “I can’t just ignore someone who needs my help. Besides, I…I never thanked you for saving my life. I’m not even sure why you did, but whatever reason you had, thank you.”

“You’re worth more alive than dead,” Oswald replied breezily, deciding not to address the fact that he’d been moments away from just leaving her there for the rats and carrion birds. “You are a surprisingly versatile individual, Dr. Thompkins. You’re clever, and skilled, and an in-road to the Narrows should I ever need one - ” Here Lee scoffed, but let him continue. “-And I wished to show my appreciation for your timely riddance of Sofia Falcone, however much I’d have liked to do the deed myself.”

“Aw, Oswald,” Lee said with a moue of faux affection. “If I didn’t know better I’d say that’s sweet of you. But seriously,” she continued. “Thank you.”

“If you really want to show your gratitude talk to your dear Jim about getting a pardon for me and Ed. You know that I, at least, came back to defend the city.”

Lee rolled her eyes. “If you stay out of trouble. I doubt he’ll agree to that though.”

“Maybe throw in Ivy while you’re at it,” he mused smugly. “That’d be a nice way for me to clear the ledger.”

“Don’t push your luck.” She rose, rolling her stiff neck. “I need a bath. A long one. Keep an eye on Ed.”

“Well I don’t have much choice do I?” Oswald muttered tartly when she’d gone.

***

It wasn’t too much longer before Ed startled awake, flushed and panicked, but Oswald’s firm hand on his arm curbed any subsequent lashing out.

“It’s ok, take a breath. You’re alright.”

Ed’s dark eyes narrowed, and he slowly, deliberately, poked Oswald’s hand. Oswald suppressed a sigh.

“It’s really me. Don’t worry.”

A shuddering gasp shook Ed’s whole body, and he scrubbed his hands over his face, knocking his glasses askew. “Oh God Oswald – I thought –“

Oswald’s grasp gently tightened. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Everything’s alright.”

“What happened? Where’s Lee?”

“She’s upstairs. And it was Ivy, she healed me.”

Ed’s brow furrowed. “Ivy? What did she want?”

Oswald exhaled slowly. “Nothing right now. But she intends to collect down the line, and I can’t imagine her waiting for long. She never was the patient type. She doesn’t want me dead though, whatever she might say, so we have a bit of leeway.”

“I imagine you’ll-“ Ed wiggled his fingers excitedly – “finagle your way out of this one soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” Oswald mused thoughtfully. “But I’ve no problem doing a favor for an old friend, especially one as potentially useful as her. Of course, it depends on what she asks for.” With the blackness halving his vision, he had to turn his head much farther to meet his friend’s gaze. “But with Lee gone we need to discuss our next move.”

“I guess leaving Gotham is officially out of the question, huh?”

“The city will be changing, Ed,” Oswald said conspiratorially, releasing his friend to pace around the low table and gather his thoughts. “We’ll need to head back as soon as possible, tomorrow morning even. Reunification will be underway soon. Gotham is no longer a prison, it’s an opportunity. This is our chance to make ourselves useful, ingratiate ourselves with the aid workers, the poor most affected by the bombs and the invasion. A new public image does wonders in erasing past misdeeds. If we play our cards right, we may be able to secure a pardon.” He glanced upwards. “Dr. Thompkins will be helpful there, whether she means to be or not. To explain her absence she’ll have to mention how I almost lost my life defending the city.”

“And hopefully leave out the part where we fled from the battlefield.”

“My unfortunate ocular impairment will speak for itself. People tend to cast judgments based on what they are immediately confronted by.” He clicked his tongue. “What do you think? Prosthetic, or eyepatch?”

Ed looked him over clinically. “Prosthetic,” he announced. “You’ll need a patch while you’re still healing, but if your goal is a friendly image most people find them a bit off-putting. I’d get a replacement as soon as you can.”

“Hm. Sad and quite ableist, but true.”

“Where do I fit in this grand scheme of yours?” Ed muttered, framing the words with a light sarcasm. “I’ve…never been very good at cultivating respect.”

“That’s why you’ll be working behind the scenes. Help rebuild the water main or something.”

“Gordon will be watching us like a hawk.”

Oswald paused, exhaled thoughtfully. “No, I don’t suppose there’s much use trying to persuade him anymore, is there? But,” he grinned, “his lady wife did mention that he’s been promoted to commissioner, effective as soon as reunification is complete. Attending the ceremony will be a helpful step, I’m sure. And if we successfully integrate, I’ve been thinking-“ He paused for effect, enjoying the outlining of his plan. “I’m going to reopen the Iceberg Lounge.”

“What will the centerpiece be this time, I wonder?” Ed said dryly.

“I’m thinking a fountain. Maybe with your head on it, if you keep giving me lip.” He hesitated, noting the rather disconcerted look on his friend’s face. “But – that’s just my plan. You’re certainly not obligated to become involved if you’ve something else in mind. What do _you_ want?”

“Still figuring it out,” Ed replied with that false smile of his. “Things have been rather, uh, derailed lately.”

“Ed,” Oswald said slowly, feeling his single eye grow wet. “I won’t ask you to stay in Gotham if that’s not what you want. This is your chance to leave and start over somewhere else.”

Ed’s pale, tired face softened the way it always did when he was about to say something particularly sappy. “Not if you’re still here.”

Oswald seated himself beside his friend, extending a hand and letting Ed gently take it. “I’m going to make this work for you, Ed,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

“I don’t think I can ever live the kind of life you lead, Oswald,” Ed said softly. His gaze darkened. “I need to return to the truest version of myself…but I haven’t been him in a long time.”

“I’ll help you. Any way I can.”

“I know you will.”

Silence fell, neither of them particularly inclined to move or separate their hands.

“Tomorrow, then?” Ed whispered at last.

“Tomorrow,” Oswald replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *writes a chapter that's almost entirely dialogue* *hates it but posts it anyway*
> 
> Thank you everybody that's stuck around this long! You guys are the best! Drop a comment if you want <3

**Author's Note:**

> Consistent tone and medical accuracy? In my stories? It's more unlikely than you think  
> follow me on Tumblr @ramblingsofachristiannerd
> 
> next chapter should be up in a few days
> 
> Drop a comment if you please. Pretty please.


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